Date: Fri, 04 Mar 2011 14:44:25 -0800
From: marianasdeep3@hushmail.com
Subject: 7 and 4
Ahh, the 6th grade butt, 11 years old, going on 12.
When you "graduate" from American elementary school to middle
school--or if you prefer the terms grade school to junior high--you
also "graduate" to gym class with a shower afterwards. What a kid
doesn't realize at that age is that the whole reason you are
separated off between grade schoolers and high schoolers in the
first place is that you are starting, going through, and finishing
puberty, and thus starting to stink. Oh, the trepidation of that
first shower. "You mean I have to take off all of my clothes? In
front of my classmates? And they're going to take off all their
clothes too? And we're all going to be in a single shower room
together, at the same time, without even private showerheads?"
Yes! But I soon discovered my love for the 6th grade butt, and
looked forward to showering with my classmates every Monday,
Wednesday, and Friday after the 2 hour gym class. Of course that
added another trepidation, "What if I get a boner looking at my
friends?!"
American kids these days are such prudes, strikingly ironic when
you think of all the sex they're exposed to on the TV, internet,
and all the other media. When they change in public, even in the
relative privacy of a same-sex locker room, they wrap a towel
around their clothed body, completely change under the towel, and
only lose the towel once completely dressed. The privates are
never exposed, a visual escape act that Houdini himself couldn't
master.
But in the days of this story, you bore all. Had to. Why?
Because the gym teacher handed you your towel. And only when your
shower was done. The shower was only done when it met his
expectations in a visual inspection. I learned years later that
the ostensible reason for this inspection was for the gym teacher
to uncover all possible physical manifestations of American child
abuse: cuts, bruises, and, God forbid, even cigarette burns. Only
then did you get your towel, which meant from the time you lost
your clothes near your locker, walked the locker room hallway to
the shower, took your shower, and came back out, your nudity was
paraded about for all to see. Now I'm not saying that it's the way
it's suppose to be, or should be, in fact perhaps the modern
prudishness goes right along with the heightened awareness of
sexual abuse, like the kind I will be describing here, maybe even
prevents it. But I loved to see my fellow classmates' butts, and I
think that joy is largely gone for kids now.
Butts were the easiest to see, which was fine by me, because if
anything was going to be covered up, it was the cock. Everyone
wanted to know how you measured up, so usually the hands were in
front, or the back was turned, usually both, which left the butt
fully displayed. What's more, the butt owner's eyes were usually
looking the other way, which gave you nearly unlimited time to
examine the booty. What my classmates and I didn't realize, as
most kids don't realize their power in their attractiveness, is
that every one of those upturned butts was saying "fuck me"
irresistibly to our gym teacher, who we all called Mr. B. After
all, what 6th grade boy even knows it's possible for a boy to get
fucked? But my friend and I use to joke about him leering at us,
knowing even at that age that he was making us uncomfortable, even
if we didn't have the word "pervert" to describe him. But I was
enjoying myself too, and almost made it a point myself to at least
try to examine everyone's butt each class. And that's why I
started noting some peculiarities about midway through the semester.
It started with Timmy. One shower, I noticed his butt had
scratches on it. It was not uncommon for a kid to have a scratch
on his butt from a slip, slide, fall, or wipeout, but these were
peculiar. Each butt cheek had a straight scratch on it, parallel
to his crack. They were not deep scratches, not breaking the skin
in any way; they just looked slightly irritated, and reddened up in
the heat of the shower. I wasn't sure, but what struck me was each
scratch seemed to have a flag on the top. Timmy looked like he had
two 1's on his butt, one on each cheek. But maybe I was just
imagining things.
About a week later, I noticed Kevin had scratches. What struck me
was that in addition to a scratch that looked like a "1", he had a
scratch that looked like a "3" on the other butt cheek. I was
confirming to myself, at least, that these were definitely numbers.
After school we had intramurals teams. We were too young to play
other schools yet, but this gave us a chance to split the whole
school into several teams to have a tournaments in whatever sport,
football, basketball, etc. Generally though, only the jocks went
out for intramurals, and I wasn't much of a jock. In fact, in the
era of this story, many a physical self esteem, including mine, was
ruined for life in gym class on account of being picked last for a
team. Granted these were often popularity contests and not about
ability, but I dropped my share of footballs and baseballs, and
missed my share of baskets to be picked next to last, and knowing
that only made me unpopular didn't help the ego. But there was a
good reason to go out for intramurals: to see the butt cheeks of
the kids not in your gym class! So it was that I looked forward to
seeing my friend Jeff.
To my surprise, Jeff had scratches on his butt, and these were
definitely numbers. A "2" on each butt cheek. They were very
faded as if they were old, not a day old, but perhaps from this
morning.
"Hey Jeff, why do you have two 2's on your butt?" My curiosity was
now enough for me to brave asking.
"Huh, What?" he replied, looking over his shoulder down to the top
of his butt.
"Two 2's on your butt?" I asked again.
"I don't have ..." he started.
"Here, look in the mirror." I suggested.
"Oh that, oh I don't know. What ya noticing for?" Jeff asked back,
but now seemingly aware of what I was talking about.
That was a gotcha. A caught looking. I shrugged it off, like he
was shrugging the subject.
The next gym class I noticed Kevin again. This time he had a "3"
on one butt cheek and a "2" on the other. He had a 3 the last
time, and I thought it was on the same left butt cheek, so I
mentally noted the "3" on the left cheek and the "2" on the right.
The following gym class I noticed that John now had a "4" on his
left butt cheek and a "2" on the right.
After intramurals later in the week, I noticed Jeff again. He had
a "2" on his left butt cheek like last time, but now his right butt
cheek was sporting a "3." I also noticed that Phillip, also not
from our gym class, had a "5" on his left butt cheek and a "2" on
his right. After gym class the following morning, Rick had a "6"
on his left butt cheek and a "1" on his right.
After a long weekend, it was time for Monday gym class. We were
playing soccer, so I suited up in my jock, running shorts, t-shirt,
and shoes and socks, and began lining up with the other boys with
the assistant teacher. He had been arranging the games all
semester long while our normal gym teacher, Mr. B., was doing
grades, usually joining us the last half of class. I started
filing outside with the others when I heard, "Jimmy, time for your
grade review."
I stepped into the gym teacher's office, all the others now outside.
"O.K., take your shirt off and put your hands on top of your head.
I'm going to examine your physique." I did as I was told. "O.K.
now turn around slowly." I did as instructed one complete
rotation, him signaling me to make another. When I got half way
around with my butt to him, he asked, "Jimmy, are you wearing a
jock?"
"Yes," I said defensively. We would get yelled at and downgraded
if we weren't wearing a jock. I never understood why we had to
wear one, and why they were open in back. I soon would be learning
why.
"Show me." I looked surprised and uneasy with the request, but it
wasn't uncommon, so I grabbed the waist band of my running shorts,
and pulled them below my butt like usual, only in back, exposing my
bare butt framed by jock strap.
"Lose the shorts." The request made me uncomfortable because my
shirt was already off. He also told me to take my shoes off to get
the shorts off, so I was soon standing in front of him in only a
jock and knee length soccer socks.
"Turn around, put your hands on my desk, and bend over." When I
did that, I had my butt toward him, ass high with only two leg
bands around each leg at the bottom and a waist band above the top.
He put one hand on each butt cheek and parted my crack.
"You need to wash better in there." With that he grabbed a wet
wash cloth and soaped it up with bar soap. He started washing my
butt, focusing most of the attention to my crack and asshole.
"Is there a reason you don't like washing here?" he asked.
"I don't like touching there, it's dirty." I replied.
"You mean naughty?" he asked.
"Yeah, that's it." I answered, surprised that his words summarized
it so well.
When he had finished, he had me stand up and face him. Then came
the request I was leery of, "O.K. pull your jockstrap down." I
reluctantly pulled mine down to my knees. He fondled my cock and
balls as if examining them.
"They're coming along nicely. You're pretty big for a boy your
age. That is you have a pretty big cock for a boy your age. Do
you know what I mean when I say `cock'?"
"Yeah, my penis." I said. When he finished fondling, I pulled my
jockstrap back up.
"Yeah, only that's the word we use in health class. You can say
`cock' here." Like most gym teachers, he was also our health
instructor. "Have you tried `jacking off' with it? Masturbation?
What we called it in health class?"
"Yeah," I said sheepishly.
"Did you enjoy it. Did you cum?" He asked.
"Yeah ..." I replied, but looked a little unsure of the second bit
"Cum means to ejaculate. Did you ejaculate?" he continued the
questioning.
"Yeah, a little." I said.
"Did you like that? Did it feel good?" he asked.
"Yeah ..." and laughing, as he laughingly said "a lot?", I repeated,
"Yeah..."
"Would you like to try fucking?" he asked. When he sensed my
stunned silence, he added, "Fucking is what we called sexual
intercourse in health class."
"Yeah, I know ...", then answering the point, "Yeah."
"Did you know that boys can fuck?" adding when he saw my confusion,
"Boys have a pussy too. We called it a vagina in health class, but
you can also call it pussy or cunt.. Did you know you have a cunt?"
"No." I said
"Would you like to try fucking?" he repeated.
I hesitated a little in confusion, but then repeated, "Yeah."
"Come over here and bend yourself over the desk again, ..." and as I
started complying, "... and I'll fuck ya." The last part surprised
me, but also excited me. The excitement only increased as he
started massaging a special oil along my crack and into my asshole,
leaving my jockstrap in place. Then he lost his gym shorts and was
getting his cock hard behind me. I started getting nervous and
getting up, but he pushed down on my lower back, then my upper
back, dropping me from hands to elbows on the desk. He pulled the
waist band of my jockstrap half way up my back, and each leg band
half way down to my knees, lined up his cock ... and inserted.
"Ohhh, ow, ohhh, ohhh, ow, ow, ooohhh." It felt like I was taking a
shit, only filling rather than emptying, as the cock slowly but
surely took my ass. Just as I was about to protest, I felt his
hand stroking my cock inside my jockstrap pouch. It started
feeling good, first just enough to stop my protest, then to
surrender to the cock invading my asshole.
When he bottomed out, he let me get used to his girth while he
continued to stroke me. To my relief, he started pulling his cock
out, but then bottomed out into me in one thrust, "Angfff" was all
I could manage. His cock went out again, then in, "Uhhhh" from me
again. By the third or fourth time, I got used to it, and he
started a pattern, in and out.
"There. Now we're fucking. You're getting fucked. Do you like
it?"
It took me awhile to answer, but eventually I nodded yes, his
continued stroking of my cock increasing my enjoyment.
"You like it?"
"Yes," I finally answered, aware that nodding wasn't enough.
"You like getting fucked? What do think your parents would think
about the fact that we're fucking. That you like getting fucked.
Would they like that?"
Suddenly realizing I was being bad, I answered, "no" and he
answered the "no" with me, "No, they wouldn't like that, would
they. You're being naughty, aren't you?"
With that he increased the fucking to a feverish pace. The
stroking increased as well, and I was overwhelmed with fucking
sensations.
"What would they do if they found out you were fucking?" When I
didn't answer, "Would they spank you?" The word "spank" came with
two stinging swats, one to the top of each butt cheek. And with
that he groaned, each thrust pausing while his cock fired the first
sperm I ever took up my butt. By the time he was done, I was laid
flat on the desk. He continued stroking me, and finally I felt my
cock jerk. Some cum came onto his hand, which he raised to his
mouth, licking it off. Now that we were both spent, he slowly
pulled his cock out, wiped it on my butt cheeks, then got off of
me. As I started to get up, he held me down.
"Hold it. Wait." He grabbed a towel and started wiping the cum
out of my crack and asshole. "We gotta get this sperm out of you
so you don't get pregnant. Otherwise your parents will find out
you were a naughty boy and got fucked."
My mind was a swirl of confusion and panic. I could get pregnant!?
When he finished wiping the cum out of my ass, I suddenly felt
scratching across my left butt cheek, then a second scratch on the
same left butt cheek, running from my crack to the lower left
corner of my butt.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Just marking your butt a little. A little grade for our fuck.
You did well." Then I felt a another scratch, this time on my
right butt cheek, a single scratch parallel to my crack. "O.K.,
pull your jock back up." Once I was standing and my jock was in
place, he said, "Put your shorts, shirt and shoes on too. There's
an hour left of gym class, so go out and join the game."
After a hard game of soccer, it was time for the showers. Once I
was nude, I started my usual butt gazing, but this time, whenever I
turned to look around, I noticed more people were looking at MY
butt. It was one thing to get a glance, quite another to get a
double take or two, even some pointing, drawing the attention of
someone else to my butt.
As I was walking out of the shower, my friend Tony came up and
asked me, "Why do you have a "7" on your butt?"
"Huh?" I asked.
"A "7", come here and look in the mirror." To my surprise there
was an irritated red 7 on my left butt cheek, only backwards in the
mirror. I also noticed a "1" on my right butt cheek. You could
tell that the redness had increased with the heat of the shower,
the numbers already starting to fade a little. I shrugged it off
to my friend and got dressed.
Wednesday's gym class, I noticed that Timmy had a "1" on his left
butt cheek, and a "2" on his right. He had been the first I had
noticed, with 1's on each cheek last time. Friday's gym class I
noticed that John had a "4" on his left butt cheek again, but now a
"3" on his right.
When the next Monday gym class came along, I was suiting up when I
heard his call again, "Jimmy, time to review your grade." I
reluctantly walked into his office while the other kids went out to
play.
Mr. B. wasted no time, "So, do you want to fuck again?"
"Umm ... no." I replied.
"Why not? Didn't you enjoy it the last time?" he asked.
"Yeah ..." I said.
"Then why don't you want to fuck again?" he asked again.
"I don't want to get pregnant." I said.
"Jimmy, don't worry. It takes quite a few fucks to get pregnant."
He said.
"How many?"
"Jimmy, how about this? Do you remember in health class we talked
about contraception?"
"Yeah."
"How about I use a condom this time?" he said, and with that he
threw me a little square packet.
"I guess so." I said.
"Here, open it like this," he said, tearing a corner and pulling
out a ring of rubber. "O.K. you put it on. ... This way, then it
rolls back over my cock, you see. ... Whoops, wait. A little too
far, pull it back off just a little...that's it. You've got to leave
a little room at the end to collect the sperm. ... Now roll the rest
all the way down to the base of my cock. ... That's it. O.K., it's
ready. Take all your clothes off this time, and get completely up
on the desk on all fours. ... That's it."
When I was in position, he lubed his cock and my asshole. But he
didn't waste time inserting. "Ahhh, Ahhh, owww, owoww. Owww. "
He went slowly but firmly up my butt, all the way without stopping
this time. Soon we were fucking and he had my cock in his hand. I
was moaning, and moaning, and moaning, a mix of pain and pleasure.
Suddenly he pulled out. I looked back over my shoulder and saw him
pull the condom off his cock. Then he realigned, but before I
could say anything, he inserted and continued the fuck.
"I don't want to get pregnant." I protested as I was getting fucked.
"Jimmy, don't worry about it. The sperm's already in the condom."
I built to an orgasm fast, and blasted a load of cum on the desk
and his hand. My sphincter sucked his cock with each spasm of my
orgasm, then HE thrusted, stopped, thrusted, stopped, thrusted,
stopped for a longer time. A few more thrusts, slower than the
first. And I was fucked again.
Again, he held me in place while he wiped my butt, "Let's get the
sperm out again."
I looked over at the used condom and did not see any cum in it, and
here he was wiping sperm off of me again, "I thought you said the
sperm was in the condom?"
"Jimmy, don't worry. It won't happen this time." he said.
The comment renewed my concern, "How many fucks does it take to get
pregnant?"
"Oh, at least 3 or 4, and even then there's only a chance it will
take," he answered.
Then, once again I felt scratching. This time, having seen it in
the mirror after the first time, I knew he was scratching a "7"
again on my left butt cheek. Then, he started scratching my right
butt cheek. I concentrated to figure out what it was, and realized
he was scratching a "2." I began to suspect the "2" signified that
this was our second fuck. Again, I was told to suit up and join
the gym game late. And again, I felt everyone stealing glances at
my butt while we were in the shower afterwards.
Wednesday after gym class I noticed Rick had a 6 on his left butt
cheek, and a 2 on his right. At intramurals, I noticed Jeff had a
2 on his left and a 4 on his right. Friday after gym class I
noticed Timmy had a 1 on his left and a 3 on his right. Seeing
Timmy, the first, still with a 1, made me start to put together the
order of the left butt cheeks. Timmy, Jeff, Kevin, John, Phillip,
and Rick were in order 1 through 6. That made me number 7. Monday
after gym class I noticed someone new. Chris had an 8 on his left
butt cheek and a 1 on his right. Wednesday after gym class, I
noticed that Kevin had a 3 on his left butt cheek and a 3 on his
right butt cheek. I decided to say something.
"Kevin? Did you notice that I had a 7 on my butt?" I asked, trying
to make him less defensive by starting the subject with myself.
"Yeah. And a 2? Are you enjoying yourself?" I was surprised he
knew exactly what I was talking about. So blunt, it threw me.
"Are you?" I asked.
"Oh sure." He answered. It was definitely sarcastic, but that left
me unsure of his true feelings. I pressed a bit.
"3?" I asked, alluding to his butt, but not clear which 3.
"Yeah, I've been fucked 3 times. How about you, were you fucked 7
times? You must really be enjoying yourself."
That dropped the subject. I had only been fucked twice. I don't
think Kevin had figured out what all the numbers meant. That our
gym teacher had now fucked up to 8 boys multiple times. That he
was number 3, and I was number 7. That he had been fucked 3 times,
and I had been fucked twice.
And then Friday after gym class, I heard my number called again,
"Jimmy, time to review your grade."
Again, he wasted no time. In fact, he didn't ask, just told me
what to do, "Get ready to fuck."
"I don't want to fuck." I said.
"Why not?" he tersely answered.
"It's our third time. And you said it takes 3 or 4 times to get
pregnant. I could get pregnant this time." I told him.
"Do you remember in health class we talked about oral sex?" he
asked.
"Yeah." I responded not sure where it was leading.
"Well, you can use a blowjob to prevent pregnancy." He said.
"A blowjob?" I asked.
"Yeah, that's the name for oral sex. You just suck my cock. Once
you've sucked all the sperm out of it, we can fuck and you won't
get pregnant." He explained.
"I don't want to suck your cock." I answered.
"Why not?" he asked.
"Because you pee with it." I said.
"Well, I've cleaned it. And I don't just pee with it, I fuck with
it. Sperm is good. And it's good for you. It'll make you grow
big and strong." He told me. When I sat there unsure, he reached
into my shorts and started massaging my cock. Then the other hand
started massaging my chest and tits while pulling my shirt up and
off. He leaned into my ear, "and we can fuck afterwards."
With my shirt off and my shorts and jockstrap at my knees, he stood
up with me sitting on the desk. He dropped his shorts, his cock
already hard. He massaged the shaft a few times and then pointed
it at my mouth, "Come on, open up sweetie."
The thought of sucking his cock, anyone's cock, seemed gross to me,
but his massaging was making me excited. I wanted to fuck. I
opened my mouth, with that he quickly inserted, and for the first
time in my life I was sucking cock.
I was surprised by the warmth of his cock, hot even. I didn't know
what to expect for taste, but at first it only tasted like sweaty
skin. The head was soft, velvety, with a slight goo coming from
the open slit. When he pressed more of it into my mouth, I felt
the hardness of the cock, its stiffness getting wider moving down
from the tip to the base. My tongue was roving around the
underside of his cherry tip. Then I heard the mother of all middle
school insults.
"Yeah, that's it you little cocksucker. Suck my cock."
With that he started making little thrusts, the tip of his cock
poking at the entrance of my throat and making me gag a little. He
backed off each time just enough for me to get a breath, then
gagged me a little with it again.
"Yeah, suck all the sperm out of the cock before it fucks ya.
That's it, suck all the sperm out of it before you're fucked by
it."
Then he grabbed my head, holding it in place thrusting the cock to
the back of my mouth, and unloaded his sperm. The first blast made
me sputter and cough, but with that he only pressed it deeper for
the second, third, and fourth pulse of sperm. Swallowing was the
only way to keep up.
"That's it you little bitch. Suck the sperm out. Swallow it down."
When he was spent, he pulled his cock out of my mouth, "OK, come
here and lick it clean. You don't want any sperm on it before it
goes in your cunt."
When I had finished, my shoes were removed, and my shorts and
jockstrap were quickly removed from my knees. I was nude again
except for my knee length socks. I assumed it was going to be the
desk again, and started climbing onto it when he stopped me.
"We're going to do it differently this time," he said. He took me
over to a gymnastic matt he had on the floor, and told me to lie on
my back, "O.K., spread your legs and lift them in the air."
With my legs spread and in the air, he climbed between them,
lifting them over his shoulders. I saw him lining up his cock with
my asshole, now up in the air with my legs rolled back. I felt the
cock enter my ass, but my attention was quickly drawn to his chest
as his weight pressed more and more on the backs of my thighs. I
felt trapped, panicky in fact. Then the fucking really started.
He had never fucked me so hard and so fast. And it went on
seemingly forever. I would soon discover why. He was working up
his second orgasm in a row. Then I felt the thrust and pause
pattern I knew meant that he was unloading up my butt. I was not
only fucked again, but knocked up again. I started screaming at
him as he got up and pulled out, me confirming that he had unloaded
by seeing sperm all over his cock.
"I'm gonna get pregnant. It's our 3rd time. I'm gonna get
pregnant." I was crying.
"Jimmy, no you're not. There's only a very slight chance on your
third fuck, especially after you sucked so much sperm out of it,"
he informed me, "Now, turn over."
I complied, forgetting why. Then I felt the scratching on my butt
and remembered. And I knew the score. A number seven, I was
number seven, on the left. And a number three, my third fuck, on
the right. I got dressed for soccer, and was dreading the shower
embarrassment.
At intramurals, I remembered Jeff was #2 and had been fucked 4
times, at least according to the last marks I saw on his butt. I
also knew he shrugged the subject before, but that was before I had
been fucked, and now that I knew what it was all about, and had at
least broken the ice with him before, I thought I could bring it up
again. As with Kevin, trying to make him less defensive, I started
the subject with myself.
"Jeff, I've been fucked three times by Mr. B and know what the
numbers on the butt mean. Were you fucked four times?" I asked.
"... Yeah." he finally admitted reluctantly.
"It's o.k. with me, but I'm worried. Mr. B told me I could get
pregnant on my third or fourth fuck. Did he tell you that?" I
asked.
"No. Jimmy, that's not true. Boys can't get pregnant. Don't
worry about that." He said.
I was greatly relieved, but was now curious, "If we can't get
pregnant, why does he fuck us?"
"Because he's a pervert who gets off on boys' butts." he said.
"Why did you go along with it?" I asked.
"Why did you?" he responded.
"I guess because I enjoyed it, but I'm really ashamed." I said.
"Don't worry. I enjoyed it too. What horny boy doesn't want to
explore?" he said.
To this day, I'm indebted to Jeff, and he doesn't even know it.
But in one conversation, he allayed my fears AND my guilt. That's
perhaps the biggest step in dealing with sexual abuse, even though
I FEEL the events still fucked me up for life. I'm not moralizing,
just stating my facts, MY reactions.
So Mr. B fucked at least 8 boys, each multiple times. I was fucked
one last time, eventually sporting a 7 and a 4 on my butt. When I
told Mr. B that I now knew I couldn't get pregnant, he laughed at
my naivete. That hurt. I have to admit that I enjoyed the last
fuck the most, knowing I wasn't going to get pregnant. Eventually
there were no more numbers on the butts in my gym shower. Mr. B
was replaced, and it was only later in life I learned that they
arrested the pervert and threw him in jail.
Perhaps it is moralizing to call him a pervert. Some would argue
that he just introduced me to my homosexuality. Once he was gone,
I did get propositioned by many boys who knew, by the marks, that I
had been fucked, and with that many marks, presumed I enjoyed it.
Perhaps I conveniently blamed Mr. B. for my homosexuality for too
long before I accepted it in myself. But that was precisely the
fuck-up I incurred. For a long time, I didn't trust my sexuality
because I wasn't sure of its origins, perhaps still don't trust it,
and it took far too long to enjoy sexual relationships with anyone.